


The Morning After

by Haywire



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire/pseuds/Haywire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna wakes up after a crazy night out on the town and tries to piece together exactly what happened. Tom may or may not be any help whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyitsk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsk/gifts).



> Written for heyitsk for Not Prime Time 2014, hope you enjoy it. :)

The bright light slammed into Donna’s forehead with concussive force as she sat up, forcing her eyes shut and nearly knocking her back down onto her bed again. No, wait, she wasn’t in her bed, she was… where was she, exactly?

She opened her eyes the tiniest fraction, squinting almost imperceptibly in an attempt to keep the harsh brightness out. It took more than a few seconds but she started to recognize some of the surrounding shapes: there was her coffee table, her television, her loveseat. She was on her living room floor, apparently.

“What in the f-”

“French toast, coming uuuuuuup!” sang Jean Ralphio, coming out of Donna’s kitchen with a tray in his hand. “Breakfast in bed, whaaaaaat? Or, well, breakfast in couch I guess.” He laid the tray on the coffee table in front of her, kicking off a few empty beer cans the make room first.

“Ow,” Donna winced at the loud noise as she forced herself to sit up. “Wait, what is this again?” She lifted up one of the objects on her plate, which appeared to be covered in mustard. “The hell?”

“French toast! Did I put too much of the French sauce on the top?” Jean Ralphio asked with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll be straight up honest, yo, one hundred percent?” He paused for dramatic effect. “I’ve never cooked a single thing in my life. There, I said it, phew!”

“Is this… is that French’s mustard?” Donna brought the bread closer to her nose and sniffed it. “It is, and- hey, this isn’t even _toasted._ ”

“Did you hear the part where I’ve never cooked a single thing in my life?” he replied with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Seriously, though, it looks mad DELOICIOUS so if you’re not gonna eat it…” Jean Ralphio reached over to take the tray.

“Be my guest.” Donna said, dropping the bread back onto the plate. “Wait, why _are_ you my guest? How did you get in here?”

Before he could answer a familiar voice humming as it came down the stairs. Tom Haverford came into view, wearing a pair of flip flops that were too large for him and a towel wrapped around his waist.

“T FRESH!” yelled Jean Ralphio, forgetting about the tray.

“Not so loud Jean Ralphio, god!” Tom said. “You’re gonna wake… oh, Donna, snap! Regal Meagle! You’re up, how are you?”

“I’m about to kill someone if they don’t tell me what’s up, that’s how I am,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “And my head is killing me. What happened last night?”

“Here, I found these in your medicine… I mean, I brought these with me.” Tom said, opening his palm and offering some aspirin to Donna. “Wait, you don’t remember last night? Seriously? After the whole… I mean, we were totally…” Tom sighed and plopped down on the end of the couch. “I can’t remember either, I just woke up here on the floor.” He gestured to the space between the couch and the coffee table beneath where Donna slept.

“If I can just jump ahead here a little bit… did you take a shower in my house?” Donna asked. “And are you wearing my flip flops?!”

“Donnaaaaaaaaa,” Tom whined. “You _know_ I need to exfoliate first thing in the morning, and my flippy floppies are at home. Come oooooon.”

“Alright, alright,” she held up her hands. “But you owe me one.” Donna looked down at his feet. “And new flip flops. No offense.”

“None taken.”

She sighed and looked over at Jean Ralphio. “Ok, I know we can’t remember what happened but how did he get in here?”

“Glad you asked!” Jean Ralphio said, picking up one of the pieces of ‘french toast’ and taking a bite. “I found you after you… had…” He screwed up his face and spit out the mouthful of food onto the plate. “Grooooooss, wow. Cooking is _hard_ , yo!”

“After what?” Tom prompted, blinking as he saw what was on the plate. “And what were you trying to make?”

“After this, and French toast.” Jean Ralphio said, holding up an empty glass bottle that read Snake Juice.

“NO WAY ow ow ow!” both Tom and Donna exclaimed in unison.

“Dude, totally way!” said Jean Ralphio, putting the bottle on the coffee table. “You were both on the dance floor, just going wild, taking turns chugging from this bottle. After you just about passed out I made sure you got home ok.” He held up Donna’s driver’s license with her home address on it, which she deftly snapped out of his hands. She was going to ask him how he got it but decided she didn’t really want to know.

“Where did we get it? That stuff should be banned and destroyed.” Tom said, picking up the bottle to examine it. “Did we… wait, I remember doing inventory at the bistro’s wine cellar, to clean out a bunch of old bottles. Maybe…”

“...wasn’t I going to help you?” Donna asked. “Me, you, and Craig were supposed to take inventory and restock.”

“All I know is y’all were tearing it up out there. Tom, you were like this,” Jean Ralphio said, standing up and gyrating his hips like he was spinning a hula hoop. He raised his arms and started flailing them about, looking skyward while making a duck face. “And Donna, daaaaamn, girl, you were all grinding. Grinding. Grinding.” He started to pump his waist and arms, heading towards where she sat on the couch.

“Please back up or I’ll be punching. Punching. Punching.” Donna held up her fist for emphasis. “And get me a glass of water, you damn fool.”

“Sure, sure, right away.” Jean Ralphio scooped up the tray and scurried off to the kitchen with it. The pair sat there in silence while he was gone, trying to recount what had happened.

“You don’t think we… I mean.” Tom glanced over to Donna, who in turned looked over at him.

“What? Please, don’t flatter yourself, little man.” Donna said with a chuckle. “We were just having fun, it’s no biggie. That’s all.” She paused and looked at the towel wrapped around Tom. “You owe me a new towel too, fyi.”

Jean Ralphio came back and handed Donna a glass of water. “Here you go, water, I can do!”

She took it and put the pills in her mouth, taking a mouthful of water before taking the pills. Donna quickly put the glass down after and shook her hand as she pulled it away. “That’s hot water, why would you do that?!”

“I am just so useless in the kitchen, I swear to god.” Jean Ralphio replied.

“He really is, you should probably check to see if he set your oven on fire or left the microwave going with the door open.” Tom said. “I’m not even joking. I speak from experience.”

“And I am still sorry, Tommy gun, that was totally my bad, I had no idea oven gloves didn’t go back in the oven, like, all the time.”

Before anyone could comment further the doorbell rang. Donna just shook her head and got up, going over to open the door. Craig stood outside, arms crossed and scowling at her as he looked into the house.

“I have been looking EVERYWHERE FOR YOU TWO. The Bistro opens for breakfast in an hour, and I HAVE A GIGANTIC HEADACHE.” He rubbed his head. “Also, as your sommelier I must insist that we NEVER serve SNAKE JUICE AGAIN.”

“Agreed.” answered Tom and Donna in unison.

“Yo, so I can keep the other bottle of it that I found, then?” Jean Ralphio exclaimed with a grin. He then put his hand up to his mouth and sang. “Spoooooil myyyyyyself two thousand and foooourtee-”

“Actually it’s treat yo’self and-” Tom interjected.

“Just. Get. Out.” Donna said, teeth clenched. “All of you. Now.”

“That’s cool, I know when I’ve worn out my welcome.” Jean Ralphio said. “Come on, Tommy-Tommy Hav-Havs, I’ve got you. And shouty dude, if you need a ride, there’s a bus stop like two blocks down, whaaaaat?” He went to give Tom a high five, who just sighed.

“But I’m wearing a towel!” Tom said to Donna in a high pitched whine.

“I’ll bring your clothes to the office tomorrow, but you need to walk out that door while you can still walk.” Donna pointed for emphasis.

“Right, got it.” Tom turned and headed out behind Jean Ralphio, stopping long enough to shout out over his shoulder. “And we tell no one about this, right?”

“Do you need to even ask?” Donna said, tapping her foot. She then turned to the last person, Craig, who was still in the doorway.

“I’M GOING HOME NOW.” he said and then stormed off.

“About damn time.” she said, shutting the door behind the entire motley crew. Donna then went off to make herself a real breakfast, some actual French toast she thought to herself. She definitely deserved to treat herself after all of that.


End file.
